


The Once and Future Rogues

by noelia_g



Series: long way home [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelia_g/pseuds/noelia_g
Summary: The story of how Rogue One became the Rogue Squadron, in the Alliance and in the Resistance.(and on a more personal scale, a story of two pilots)(Set in the same universe as Steady As She Goes and Somewhere Slowly. Spoilery notes at the end)





	1. the alliance

_"I would ask all of you to lift your glasses and join me in a toast. To Rogue Squadron—past, present, and future. Those who oppose freedom and liberty oppose us. Let that fact give them pause to think and encouragement to travel the path of peace."_  
Wedge Antilles, The Bacta War

***

The rumours of Empire’s ultimate weapon, the planet killer, has been circulating for a long while now, but most were dismissed just as that, just rumours, a scary tale, a boogeyman. Not even Palpatine, some said, would dare to construct such a weapon. 

The more paranoid of them still keep tabs on the rumours, because the what if scenario hangs over their heads. Wedge keeps in touch with one of the Fulcrum agents, and they’re investigating the rumours in the Outer Rim, he knows Andor is working on some leads. It’s still just rumours, but the shadow of the weapon looms over the Alliance.

And then they bring in a young woman who is a daughter of some Imperial scientist, and Janson happens to be in the command centre, working on some data for general Syndulla and eavesdropping shamelessly, and he brings news of a defector pilot, Saw Gerrera, and the planet killer. 

Suddenly the rumours grow teeth and fangs, and there’s a nervousness to everyone on the base Wedge hasn’t seen in a long while, maybe never, the anxiety tangible in the air more reminiscent of his Academy days, where everyone lived fuelled by panic and stims.

And then the Council is calling up a briefing about the station that now has a name, the Death Star. 

“Antilles, Dries says to report to the control room if you’re not otherwise occupied,” Binli tells him, already on his way, and Wedge turns to look at Hobbie, who’s still hooked up to the bacta tank. 

“Go, I’ll wait for him and give him the regular speech about how crashing is bad,” Janson says, waving him off. 

He catches up to Binli outside the command and they slip in, standing near the back, sliding in next to Porkins and Dinnes. “So is this for real?”

Dinnes tilts her head towards him, her expression grim. “Andor seems to think so.”

Andor is matter-of-fact, voice flat as he goes through his investigation and the last few days’ events, ignoring the whispers spreading through the room when he describes the destruction of Jedha. It seems impossible, unthinkable even, but if there’s a man no one would accuse of exaggeration tendencies, it’d be Andor. 

“Well, shit,” Zal mutters under her breath, echoing Wedge’s sentiments. “Who’s that?” she asks when Andor steps aside and the Council calls forth a man in an Imperial pilot uniform, the whispers once again swiping across the room like a ave. 

Bodhi Rook, the Imperial cargo pilot, the defector, Galen Erso’s messenger. His voice is shaking a little when he starts speaking, his hands moving with a nervous energy as he recounts Erso’s message. He’s not as composed as Andor was, not under the gaze of the full Council and the dozens of Alliance personnel all whispering around him, he stumbles over his words and repeats himself a number of times, but there’s earnestness in him, there’s _conviction_ that makes Wedge believe him immediately.

“We must get the plans,” Rook says, hands balled into fists and shoulders straight, tense like a pulled wire. “We must,” he repeats and steps away, bowing his head to avoid the looks for a moment, breathing in and out to calm himself. The gazes turn to the woman stepping into the circle, her hand briefly on the pilot’s forearm for a moment of comfort before she starts speaking.

She’s burning with conviction, that one, as earnest as her predecessor, but Wedge finds himself watching Bodhi Rook rather than her, as the man stands straight once again, almost at a parade rest now as he nods in time with Jyn Erso’s words. The anxiety has subsided now that he’s not the centre of everyone’s attention, but the tension remains, now tempered into a steely determination of a man who knows the risks and wants to fight anyway.

The Council starts their discussion, and from the very few moments Wedge can tell where it’s going - and probably in a handbasket. Vaspar calls the intel’s source into question and Wedge grits his teeth, looking around the room. “Where’s Andor?” he asks Zal quietly, and she shrugs, pointing at the door with her thumb, her eyebrows raised when she looks at him.

Wedge steps away, slips out the door as quietly as possible. He catches the tail end of the exchange between Andor and Melshi, and relief and worry both settle in his chest. 

He turns on his heel and heads for his X-wing, nodding to Gavia, who’s sharing her lunch with Pedrin, sitting on the pile of crates next to his fighter. “We leaving?”

“Not now,” he tells her and hums to himself as he starts diagnostics. He’s not at his best on the ground, not enough to march up to Melshi and volunteer, but if they go, when they go, the fleet might have to follow. Raddus will, when he gets the wind of it, and where Raddus goes, the fleet shall. It’s be good to be prepared.

He’s brainstorming ideas on how to get his power converter efficiency up with his astromech when he notices the commotion. It’s not that it’s _extremely_ noticeable, but he’s been waiting for it, Andor’s men moving across the hangar, picking up supplies, and heading for the stolen Imperial shuttle. He scans the crowd, realising who he’s looking for only when he catches a glimpse of the gray uniform.

“Hey, Rook,” he calls out, and it takes the man a moment to realise someone’s addressing him, and then another to look around and see Wedge. “Good luck out there,” he says earnestly. Bodhi blinks at him for a moment before a nervous smile presses itself onto his lips and he nods quickly once, then twice. 

Wedge smiles back before turning back to his astromech. “Alright, I think we could actually rise it by 15 percent if we do this…”

*

“Hey, boss, did you hear the news?” Hobbie says, limping into the room. 

“Don’t call me that, and you shouldn’t be up,” Wedge mutters, looking him over with some concern. “Lierre let you out?”

“Of course not, that woman wants to keep me bed bound forever,” Hobbie mutters darkly.

“Well, you do end up in her medbay a lot,” Wedge points out. For all the excellent piloting skills Hobbie possesses, he does have a complicated relationship with gravity. The last crash landing kept him out of commission for both Scarif and the Death Star run, and Wedge isn’t quite convinced he should be up yet. 

“Don’t you start counting too, I know Janson made a sign already,” Hobbie says and leans against the doorframe. “News, want it?”

“Is it good?” he asks, looking up as he closes the roster file, sending it over to Luke. They’ve been putting together the training schedule, trying to find the best pilots among the new recruits to fill the ranks of the squadrons. 

“If it was bad, I would have sent Janson,” Hobbie says cheerfully, the grin widening when Wedge rolls his eyes and waves at him to hurry up. “Rogue One’s back.”

He fumbles with the datacards he’s been stacking up and blinks up at Derek. “Are you serious?”

“Saw them in the medbay myself. Jyn Erso seems fine, walked in there herself, so did the two Guardians. I saw Tonc and Gabby being checked out. Andor is in critical condition and I think the pilot is not faring well either, both were unconscious when I left. But, you know, alive, and if anyone can fix them, Lierre can.” 

That’s true, the woman has been a top surgeon in Coruscant’s best hospital before she joined the Alliance. Wedge turns the card he’s still holding in his hands, for the lack of something better to do. He’s not quite sure why his stomach is tied up in knots, but he forces himself to breathe in and out calmly.

“Thanks, Hobbie,” he says, and Derek gives him a searching look before he nods. 

“Don’t stay up all evening working, boss, I’m pretty sure there’s going to be base-wide celebrating, and if we have to send Wes to drag you to the mess, we won’t hesitate.”

“Perish the thought,” Wedge says, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’ll join you soon.”

Hobbie leaves and Wedge turns his attention back to his screen, but there’s a certain restlessness to him now he can’t quite justify, a buzzing under his skin, pulse rushing like he’s waiting for something. 

He types a message out to Luke, for lack of anything else to do. _Did you think about squadron names yet?_

*

When they’re not testing new pilots, Luke spends the next couple of days hanging out with the two Guardians a lot, especially Chirrut, in long discussions about the philosophy of the Force. 

Somehow the discussions lead to a training session with a lightsaber that apparently belonged to Luke’s father, and everyone who’s off duty finds their way to the outside of the hangar, watching the show. Some of those who _are_ on duty conveniently find tasks in the vicinity. Wedge brings the pilots files with him, but spends most of the time watching the display.

Neither of the two men admits to being a Jedi, but the training is impressive, instilling wonder and hope in most of those watching. He sees Hera watching from afar for a moment before she catches his gaze and smiles sadly, stepping away into the shadows and back to work before he has a chance to make his way to her. 

“Have a favour to ask if you have a minute,” somebody says behind him and Wedge looks up, nodding quickly when he sees Andor. “Bodhi Rook,” the man says and something twists in Wedge’s chest at the name, a quick current of worry running through him.

“Your pilot,” he supplies, wondering where this is going. 

Andor nods, a slight hesitance in his voice when he speaks. “He’s still figuring out how he fits in here with us. I think you could use somebody of his skills and he could use talking to somebody like you. Not everyone looks kindly on Imperial defectors.”

That’s unfortunately true. A lot of them have various Imperial backgrounds, including the high command - that’s where the officers and the senators came from. Some of them remember the service in the Republic’s times, but a lot of the younger guard has been trained by the Empire. 

It all boils down to what you’ve been doing and when you deserted. Wedge himself has only ever done Academy training, didn’t fly missions against his now fellow pilots, and that’s a little more palatable to some than pilots with experience, but with a record accounting for a number of kills. 

The later into the war you defected, the more suspect you might be to some, who’d wonder how many atrocities you had to witness before the Empire crossed the line with you. 

Most of those who have a problem with that were never dragged into the Empire’s machine, don’t know how effective it is in shielding you from any news from the outside, and in feeding you the perfectly crafted propaganda lines. No, not everyone looks kindly on those who woke up to the truth a little later than others.

“Not even with how many we’ve been getting lately,” he says tiredly. Half of his new pilot roster were trained at the Imperial Academy, most of them flew missions for the Empire. “One came in just yesterday, Alderaanian pilot. Was talking to his family on the holonet when the planet was destroyed.”

Tycho’s probably one of the best pilots they have, but Wedge isn’t quite sure how to help him outside of that, how to talk to him about what happened and if he should even try. If she wasn’t so busy he’d ask Leia, but she has her hands full with… well, everything. 

“Shit,” Andor says quietly, shaking his head, before he looks at Wedge earnestly. “I’ll owe you for this.”

Wedge waves him off. “Hey, if that’s the kind of a favour you ask of me, feel free to do it anytime,” he says. From what he knows, this is the only type of a favour Andor asks of anybody, which is why he never has to buy his own drinks, no matter how hard he insists he will. 

*

He spends the morning designing simulations with Luke and learning way more than he ever wanted to know about life on Tatooine. It seems that the planet is filled with terrifying wildlife and farmers who clearly have rocket fuel in their bloodstream.

That, or Luke is pulling his leg.

The man did destroy the Death Star though, after turning off his computer, _and_ likened it to shooting desert rats back home, so Wedge isn’t quite so eager to write off every story that starts with “back home on Tatooine…”

One day he’ll take Luke to Corellia and see what happens. Several things might explode.

They end up with a sim that actually some of their prospective pilots might finish and Luke rolls his eyes at him. “You finished it easily,” he points out and Wedge blinks for a moment, biting back a “well, that’s different,” because apparently he’s proving some people right and developing a bit of an ego.

“Fine, add back the asteroids field,” he mutters.

He spends most of the afternoon dealing with the fallout from the latest installment in Janson’s ongoing, and rapidly escalating, prank war with General Syndulla’s droid. 

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here, but he’s pretty sure Sabine is at least half to blame, so he sends her a long message detailing the saga of the prank war. He’s pretty sure she’ll get a kick out of it, so it might be counterproductive.

He finds Bodhi Rook in the evening, at a corner table in the canteen, discussing the history of Sienar Fleet Systems with Stordan Tonc, and Wedge slides onto the bench with a nod towards them both. “I must have misheard you, were you disparaging the T-65?”

Tonc laughs out loud while Bodhi blinks at him, a little nervously, eyes widening for a moment in something that might be recognition. “Careful,” Stordie says, clasping Bodhi’s shoulder, “make sure you choose your words correctly around the flight jockeys and never ever praise an Y-wing to a pilot of anything else.”

“Oh, good, it’s the Advanced vs striker debate all over again,” Bodhi mutters mournfully and Wedge snorts.

“Striker is a glorified speeder, don’t even try that. I try to stay away from the goo, thank you,” he adds and the nervousness in Bodhi eases a little, he notes with satisfaction. 

“Alright,” Tonc mutters, his chair screeching against the floor as it’s pushed away from the table. “I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen, mostly because I see cake and not because this is way above my knowledge of things that fly.”

Bodhi waves at him, only a hint of awkwardness in the gesture, before turning back to Wedge. “You’re Empire. I mean…” he starts, backpedalling quickly, a flash of worry crossing his face.

“Not for a while now, but I was Academy-trained,” he says easily. “I’m Wedge Antilles,” he says, reaching out over the table to offer his hand to shake.

Bodhi takes it and nods. “I know. I mean, you destroyed the Death Star.”

“That was Skywalker, I was only there for a bit until the ship decided it hated me,” he says easily and remembers to let go of the handshake. “Frankly, you might have more of a claim to mark a kill on your starboard than I do.” 

Bodhi ducks his head, embarrassed and just a little bit pleased, and Wedge feels something warm stir in his chest, his head light, and the realisation settles. _Oh,_ he thinks. _That would explain a lot._

He clears his throat. “Actually I had a favour to ask. We’re reforming the squadrons, could use your expertise.”

“I’m not a fighter pilot,” Bodhi says quickly, the note of anxiety back in his voice even as he leans in.

“I know. But you have an up to date knowledge of Imperial protocols and safety procedures and that’s invaluable right now. If you’d be willing…”

“Yes,” Bodhi nods once, then again twice for a good measure. “Yes, of course,” he says, his voice firm with conviction now, and Wedge realises he’s getting in deeper every second now, but there’s no stopping it, and he isn’t even sure he’d want to.

*

Janson asks for a couple days of leave and Wedge gives him a long, searching look. 

“Does it have anything to do with that mission to find Andor a new droid that I know nothing about?”

Wes curses under his breath and pulls up a chair opposite Wedge’s desk. “How do you even find out about those things?” 

“I have spies everywhere,” he says, because it might do well for Janson to ponder that for a bit instead of just telling him he knows from Bodhi. “You hate Kaytoo,” he points out and Janson shrugs.

“Hate is such a strong word, we’ve just had a difference of opinions. Several times. But, and here’s the important thing, Wedge, Sargeant Erso is extremely cute and I have been told that a way to a girl’s heart is through her droid.”

That puts an extremely worrying spin on Janson’s war with Chopper, to be perfectly frank. 

“One, I’m not sure that’s right, also, it’s Andor’s droid. Two, I’m pretty sure she’s taken,” he says flatly. At Janson’s look, he shrugs. “She’s running a covert, rogue mission to get Andor his droid back.”

“Huh,” Wes mutters, then shrugs. “I’m still going, it seems like fun.”

“Leave granted, I officially know nothing of what it’s for, you told me you’re visiting your sick grandma.”

“You’re the best boss. Don’t tell Skywalker.”

*

Bodhi spends the next couple of days clearly trying to conceal his anxiety, twitching ever so slightly when an announcement comes on comes, looking up whenever a ship appears on the horizon. 

“They’ll be fine,” Wedge tells him and hands over a mug filled with caf, the good kind that Hobbie is hoarding. “The planet doesn’t even have much of an Imperial presence, and didn’t you help plan the mission?”

Bodhi gives him a tight-lipped, waning smile in response. “See, that’s rather what worries me. Well, that, and…” he shrugs and shakes his head before continuing, and it seems to be the fact that Wedge is waiting for him to continue that actually prompts him to keep talking, to fill the silence. “Cassian’s off somewhere, Jyn’s on the mission to possibly get Kaytoo back, Baze and Chirrut are leaving…” he wraps his hands around the caf mug and shrugs again. 

Wedge gets it, he knows how it is when home is not a place but people. For him it’s been Alliance for a while now, but beyond that, it’s been Hobbie and Janson and Zal and Sabine whenever she actually happens to be around which recently is almost never. Before that, before the Academy, it was Booster and Mirax, but he hasn’t heard from them in years, pushed the worry out of his mind because it’s easier that way. 

“I think you have more friends here than you realise,” Wedge tells him. He hopes he doesn’t have to mention himself, that it’s understood, but he has a list. Luke and Hobbie, for one. Tycho took to him from the get go. Leia seems to have a soft spot, for all the Scarif mission survivors. And then there’s Tonc, who positively seems to have adopted Bodhi, and is all too knowing for Wedge’s comfort, occasionally glowering at him like he’s a moment away from asking Wedge’s intentions. 

Bodhi doesn’t ask, and so Wedge doesn’t say any of that, just busies himself with drinking half of his caf in one go. “Now I’m rethinking telling you the news,” he mutters apologetically, because he’s been there, grounded by the medics or restrained by red tape while his friends were off somewhere, fighting. It’s a worse fear than when you’re out there yourself, facing terrible odds.

Bodhi shakes his head at him. “The Hoth mission? I’ve heard. Tycho,” he adds, and if Wedge was going to name a blabbermouth, Tycho would not have been his first choice, but it’s probably a good sign. 

“It’s less of a mission and more glorified maneuvers,” Wedge says, but he can’t help smiling - it’s the first time the new squadron roster will all fly together and he can’t help feeling excited. It’s a last quick survey of Hoth before the teams go in to settle the new base, it’s extremely unlikely that they’ll run into any trouble. 

“I’ve also heard that,” Bodhi tells him, and this time the smile is more real, more open. He reaches out, tugs at Wedge’s sleeve, his fingertips briefly brushing against the skin on Wedge’s wrist. “Come on,” he says indulgently. “You want to tell me all about them.”

He really does, mostly because he’s ridiculously proud of them, of the roster he put together. Luke has taken to calling the pilots Wedge’s children on occasion, and Wedge bit down on the possible responses: first, that over half of them are older than he is, and second, that in that case he’d like to disown Janson. 

But the thing is, he _is_ ridiculously proud of them, the pilots he’s managed to get together to form this squadron. He knows the statistics on the survival odds for an Alliance fighter pilot, knows how abysmally low they’ve been even before Scarif and Yavin, and he’s going to beat those odds. This squadron is going to beat those odds. 

“How much time do you have?” he asks Bodhi jokingly, and realises the man hasn’t yet let go of his sleeve. His fingers itch a little, and he turns his hand slowly, the back of his hand brushing against Bodhi’s palm.

“Enough,” Bodhi tells him earnestly.

*

The debriefing stretches out for an uncomfortably long time, and Wedge acknowledges to himself this is never going to be a part of the job that he could enjoy. Still, it _is_ part of the job and this particular time there’s enough good news to make it worthwhile. Andor confirmed that he found a viable source of bacta, the team on Lothal secured a vital piece of intel, and Wedge’s squadron gets the official approval.

He’s tired enough when the meeting ends that he briefly considers just heading straight for his quarters and passing out, but his pilots would never let him hear the end of it. By the time he makes it to the canteen somebody has already started a party.

“Does the Council know you’re leaking out intel?” he asks Leia, who snorts and fills up his glass. 

“Please, that was a mere formality,” she tells him, and raises a glass to him. “Congratulations, Commander.” Luke clears his throat next to her and she laughs. “And to you, Commander.”

“I’m not sure he deserves it, he’s managed to skip the debriefing,” Wedge complains and Luke practically beams at him, looking extremely pleased with himself. 

“I was on a very important mission for Princess Organa here,” he says and lowers his voice for the next part “getting the alcohol for this party.” 

He looks half-drunk already, Wedge thinks, and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Have you actually drank booze before?”

“Sure,” Luke tells him. “You know, back home…”

“No,” Wedge mutters.

“Definitely not,” Leia says firmly, but her lips are twitching like she might laugh any moment now. She pats Wedge’s shoulder and hands him the bottle before tugging on Luke’s sleeve. “Come on, there’s Han, and he looks like he needs somebody to keep him out of trouble.”

Wedge almost laughs at that, because either of them is a _terrible_ candidate for that particular task, but he’s not that much invested in Solo’s sanity to intervene. He picks up the bottle instead and heads for the long table at which most of his squadron and friends are sitting. 

“Here he is,” Janson’s voice raises above all, “finally. See, I almost thought that now you were promoted you were too high and mighty to drink with us.”

Wedge rolls his eyes and hands the bottle over to Tycho, who proceeds to fill all glasses evenly, with almost uncanny precision. “The meeting dragged a little. The whole squadron was approved immediately, but then we spent about two hours discussing whether you should be part of it, Janson. Don’t worry, I defended you.”

Wes looks at him suspiciously for just a beat too long to pass if off as casual. “You’re so full of shit,” he decides and raises his glass. “Alright, kiddies, bottoms up. To…” he hesitates and glances at Wedge. “Did they approve the designation?”

“They did. Welcome to Rogue Squadron,” he says with a smile and Wes grins.

“To the Rogues,” he proclaims and while everyone is raising their glasses Wedge catches Bodhi’s eyes and flushes, because he might have spoken too soon.

Bodhi’s sitting between Tycho and Zev, hands on his knees, now nervously balled into fists as he blinks at Wedge, looking all but shell-shocked. The smile he sends Wedge after a moment is a little too sharp on the edges, and Wedge’s stomach tightens with worry and guilt, because he should have asked first, shouldn’t he.

With Bodhi across the table and with Janson calling for Wedge’s attention and pressing a glass into his hand, it’s not the right moment to try to explain, or ask. He doesn’t _get_ a chance for what feels like hours, especially not when Luke joins the table and someone (Janson, obviously) starts him off on the “back home” stories to which most of them listen with dread and disbelief. 

(Han leans back against the wall, looking put-upon for some reason, and remarks that he’s never coming back to Tatooine anyway. That’s probably a wise life choice.)

He would have missed his chance entirely, but Tycho kicks him under the table and nods his head towards the door, where Bodhi is waving off Hobbie’s offer of another drink and gathering to leave. Tycho might be his best friend now, especially when he doesn’t even laugh when Wedge stands up so fast the chair might have left skidding marks on the floor, so fast he makes himself a little dizzy. 

“Wait up,” he calls out once he’s out the door and Bodhi glances over his shoulder, stopping obligingly, hands stuffed into his pockets. “So, I fucked up,” he says plainly, needing this in the open fast. “I should have asked you about the name and…”

Either he’s drunker than he thought and his reflexes are shot, or Bodhi moves faster than a hyperspace jump, because one second he’s on the other side of the corridor and the next he’s so close Wedge can feel his breath on his lips and then closer still, fingers grasping the front of Wedge’s uniform, bringing their mouths together.

It’s clumsy and rushed and starts on an exhale, so Wedge is out of breath much too soon, and it’s absolutely _perfect._

He searches for words, something right, something fitting, something that would be worthy of the moment, but his grasp on any fleeting thought is tenuous, and he doesn’t quite trust his ability to form sentences now. 

The right word comes eventually, his lips forming the shape of Bodhi’s name, whispered into the warm space between them before they’re kissing again, Wedge stepping forward now, fingertips sinking into Bodhi’s hair. 

He’s not sure how long this lasts, seconds or hours or weeks, but at some point there are light footsteps in the corridor and Wedge blinks at Leia, who’s covering her face with her hand, either to hide a flush or a laugh. 

“Well, that’s been some party,” she says loudly, and she is definitely trying not to laugh at them. “I’m heading for my _quarters_ now, out of my way, flyboy,” she tells Wedge fondly and he was right the first time, she is just on the side of flustered, as he lives and breathes. 

He’ll never hear the end of this, he knows already.

“Quarters aren’t a bad idea,” Bodhi says, his voice taking on a slightly nervous tone, fingers twitching a little as he smoothes down his hair. “I guess that’s why she’s in charge here.”

There’s a hesitance in him that can only be answered with tenderness, Wedge’s chest tightening almost painfully for a second, and then expanding with new warmth. He laces their fingers together as they head down the corridor and doesn’t let go until he has to, to key the door open and let them into his quarters. 

They’re kissing again once they step inside, and Wedge can’t for the life of him figure out who moved first. There’s soft darkness around them, the room warmer than the corridor outside, and they move in a way that’s unhurried, almost lazy, like the touch and the closeness is the end in itself. 

He doesn’t want to hurry this at all, he finds. Everything in his life outside of this room is about haste, the time pressure on the missions and the speed of flight, the immediacy of danger, the fight to stay one step ahead. 

He wonders how to phrase it and not downplay the heat pooling in low in his stomach, the rush of his pulse, but to convey the need for the quiet and the calm. It takes him embarrassingly long to realise that he doesn’t has to say anything out loud, that Bodhi’s fingers are gentle on his neck, tracing the pulse points like he tries to soothe them, that he revels in the gentleness just as much as Wedge does.

The moment stretches until it seems to last forever, and Wedge stops measuring the time in shared heartbeats, gives into the quiet and the touch. At some point they move to the cot, and at some point later they’re just pressed closely, Bodhi’s head on his shoulder, fingers laced tightly enough that in the darkness it’s difficult to tell them apart. 

“I’m loathe to ask how late it is,” Bodhi murmurs against his neck and Wedge huffs a small laugh.

“How early, more like. Couple of short hours until dawn, I’d say. You have somewhere to be?”

“Jyn wants to start on repairing the K2 unit they brought in,” Bodhi says. “I should sleep, but I don’t _want to_ , know what I mean?”

Wedge runs his finger over the inside of Bodhi’s wrist and nods. “I do. How do you feel about a holo?”

“The only ones I’ve ever saw were the Imperial productions, so I suppose anything you have is gonna be new for me.” He doesn’t make a sign that he’d might move to let Wedge actually start a holo, so they stay closely fused as they are, Bodhi’s voice a little slurred despite his proclamations. “Ever seen the one about the last days of the Republic and the pilot and the girl… I don’t remember her name, but Wynssa Starflare played her.”

Wedge hesitates for a moment, his hand stilling in its journey over Bodhi’s forearm. 

He’s never shared this story before, not even with Sabine, and so there might be no one left in the galaxy who knows about Syal Antilles. But in this quiet and this darkness of the room he feels like he can talk about anything, about everything. He’d never known how to start the story, but now, he settles more comfortably against the wall and hums under his breath, against the top of Bodhi’s head.

“I have a sister, almost ten years my senior…” he starts simply.

*

Life in the Alliance is mostly period of boredom and anxious downtime peppered with short bursts of chaos. They’re still all coming down from the collective adrenaline high that was the Scarif and the Death Star, and the daily routines feel strange somehow, unnatural in their quiet.

That is not to say that there’s no important missions going on, but it’s the Operations and the Intelligence who do most of the work now, gathering intelligence, recruiting, providing leverage on worlds that need it. It’s a little like the early days of the scattered Rebel cells, when an actual Alliance was a distant dream. 

The downtime means some of the pilots are practically climbing the walls, grounded outside of simulator runs and short scouting assignments in the goo. Wedge has been around for long enough he got reluctantly used to this, but there’s a different kind of anxiety he’s struggled with for a couple of days, since Bodhi took off on the Ord Mantell mission.

He’s encouraged it when Bodhi broached the subject, asked what was the Alliance policy on disregarding medical orders. (There was no policy, because if there was, half of the High Command would be grounded.) He’s encouraged it, because Bodhi had already sat out Jyn’s K2 mission and fretted throughout, and because sometimes the worry is worse than the risks.

Of course now he’s the one stuck on base and bothering the communication guys every couple of hours asking if Andor’s team checked in yet. 

It’s _only_ every couple of hours, because thankfully or unfortunately, he has his pilots providing all of the distraction he might need. On the third day of atmosphere patrols and training missions Hobbie crashes the simulator somehow, Antra picks up a fight with a wampa, and Janson sets his astromech on fire while trying to make it produce caf. 

“In my defense,” he tells Wedge, “it came out better than the thing they call caf in the canteen.”

Leia just laughs at him when he tries to complain.

*

Andor’s team is on their way back, Baze and Chirrut in tow, the message not specifying the estimated time of arrival. The communications officer on duty starts side-eyeing him something fierce, and Wedge all but locks himself in his room, busies himself with the requisition forms and maintenance reports.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, not quite sure when, but then he’s being gently roused, guided towards the bed with soft insistence, Bodhi’s lips brushing his forehead for a fleeting moment. 

“‘re back?” he asks sleepily and Bodhi climbs into the bed next to him, fits perfectly on his side, a slightly too cold hand on Wedge’s stomach, fingers splayed under his shirt. 

“And for a while, hopefully. Not a fan of all the cold, mind you, but…”

He trails off for long enough Wedge shifts his head to look up at him. “But?” he prompts.

“Good to be home.”


	2. the resistance

_"I say let the Imperials keep coming, because every time a new admiral crawls out of the Outer Rim or some Imperial goon finds a lost superweapon, Rogue Squadron gets a new starfighter. Seems like a good deal to me."_  
General Wedge Antilles

***

Leia’s waiting on the tarmac when Bodhi lands the ship, along with Statura, who’s rocking impatiently on his heels.

“Any news from the fleet?” he asks immediately once Bodhi joins them, and he must really think the things are dire if he’s foregoing protocol and speaking before Leia, he’s always been such a stickler for it. 

“It was still gathering when I left, this is the latest data I have,” Bodhi hands over the datacard, his fingers shaking just a little, the old nervous tick he’s never quite lost. “Wedge should contact you soon,” he adds and Statura nods sharply, already turning to leave, eager to check the data. 

“Good to have you back, General,” he tells Bodhi, clasping his shoulder in passing. Bodhi nods in acknowledgement and then turns to Leia, taking her in for a long moment. 

They didn’t quite believe the news when it reached them, Han has always seemed larger than life, an unstoppable presence in the universe, it seems impossible for him to be gone. But looking at Leia he knows it’s true, doesn’t need to, doesn’t _want to_ , ask. 

He moves on instinct, stepping closer and opening his arms, and she accepts the hug, head on his chest for a moment.

“Wasn’t sure you’ve made it out of Hosnian on time,” she tells him once she pulls away, her tone a little sharp, a little reproachful.

They almost haven’t, Bodhi was considering staying a day more, but Wedge insisted on keeping their schedule, always a little restless when on the ground and in one place for too long. “You know my husband,” he tells her, fondness creeping into his voice, “never happy in the atmosphere.”

“Now that’s a lie,” Leia says, reaching out to pat his cheek, not all that gently.

They make their way towards the command centre, down the steps and towards the centre of the room, where people are already gathering. Bodhi nods at the familiar faces and takes note of those who are missing. 

“How bad is it?” Leia asks, matter-of-fact now, General Organa instead of just Leia. 

There’s no way to sugarcoat this, but he’s been a bearer of bad news before. “Too early to tell for sure, but Admiral Antilles assesses that at least three fourths of the fleet were stationed in the Hosnian,” he says flatly and watches as Leia closes her eyes for a moment, lets out a breath as she contemplates the losses, then stands up straighter again, bracing herself once more. The whole thing takes less than a couple of seconds, he wonders how many of those around the table even noticed.

He takes a breath of his own and continues. “The majority of the Fleet’s high command has been lost or presumed missing. Wedge is the only admiral confirmed to have survived, he’s assumed the command of the fleet for now, while we wait on the news of anyone else from the admiralty or the Senate surviving. Now,” he says, leaning in a little. “The good news.”

“Could use some,” Ackbar proclaims to his left and Bodhi gives him a nod. 

His left hand twitches a little as he grasps the edge of the table, an old and familiar sensation even though it’s not exactly a welcome one. This feels too familiar, the table, the screens, the tense expressions around the room, they’ve been here before and he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to again.

“Both Kuat and Mon Cala are still under our control.”

“The Republic’s control,” Leia corrects flatly and Statura snorts humorlessly.

“There’s no Republic.”

“That’s semantics now,” Bodhi says, a little louder than he’d intended. Despite of how many times he’s done this, he’s never really gotten the hang of public speaking. “The fleet is the most significant piece of the Republic still left and you know it’ll stand with you. There’s a number of ships under construction on Kuat and Mon Cala that will be ready soon. That’s still a considerable force.”

“Until they pull out another superweapon,” Ematt mutters, only half under his breath. 

And well, there’s that. The thing he was trying not to think about, the looming nightmare back once again. _Starkiller_. 

He still has nightmares of Jedha, sometimes, the world crumbling and dissolving around him, the cold feeling setting in his gut, the realisation that he has _failed_ so completely, so utterly. Still wakes up in cold sweat when he dreams of Scarif, the mad scramble against time and probability.

The second Death Star felt like the world’s end, this just feels like a mockery of any hope for peace they’ve ever held. 

He wonders if Jyn knows. He hopes he won’t have to be the one to tell her. 

“We’ll do what we have always done, then,” Leia says loudly, the shake in her voice almost, _almost_ unnoticeable. “We’ll deal with them as they come. Now, about Mon Cala…” she looks to Ackbar and the meeting picks up again, everyone standing a little bit straighter now. 

*

“General Rook, a word,” Leia says when everyone is scattering to their appointed tasks. He steps after her towards the small office she holds in the headquarters and closes the doors.

“Of course, _General_ Organa,” he says pointedly and Leia rolls her eyes. 

“Wedge is a bad influence on you,” she mutters and sits down, rummaging through the desk’s drawers. “Ah-ha,” she declares with satisfaction and pulls out a bottle of what looks like a Republic-era Whyren’s Reserve.

“You keep booze in here?” he asks in wonder and she shrugs, pulling out two glasses.

“I don’t, Han does. Did,” she corrects herself and fills the glasses, handing over one of them. “How are you doing really?”

Bodhi looks at her for a moment, and then takes the glass, downs the drink in one go, grimacing as he does. It’s Wedge’s favourite, and so there is some comfort in the taste, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s ever come to actually like it.

Could just be a Corellian thing.

“Are you actually asking _me_ that? Leia,” he shakes his head at her and leans forward, turning the now empty glass in his hands. 

“Figured you might not ask me the same if I fire the warning shot,” she says dryly. “Everyone’s been walking on eggshells.”

“What I was going to ask was what actually happened, because we’ve only heard Han was gone. But I’ll just get the truth out of Wedge once he gets it out of you,” he tells her, startling a chuckle out of her to his great satisfaction. “I’m fine. Or will be, which is close to the same thing. Wedge is fine, and Syal’s on Lothal, she sent a message. Haven’t heard from Jyn yet.”

“Their mission schedule doesn’t have them making contact until two days from now, if you want to know when to start worrying.”

“I’m ahead on that, then,” he told her dryly. “Now, what is it that you need from me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to make small talk, Rook.”

“You wouldn’t have plied me with Corellian whiskey for small talk, and for the record, caf would have worked better.”

“We’ve been short on caf,” she tells him mournfully and leans back in her chair. “There’s a young man on base, Finn. He was one of the reasons we actually stood a chance destroying Starkiller.”

He gets it immediately, just from her first few words. There’s been defectors before him and after him, in the times of the Empire, the ones who didn’t know what they were signing up at first, or those that have but one day it proved to be too much. Ones with blood on their hands and good intel, and ones whose homes were ruined and choice taken away. And the ones who worked for the Empire because that was what you did, because that way there was food on the table and relative comfort, and they went on until they could not look into the mirror anymore.

The First Order is a different beast, for all that it models itself on the Empire. There’s less people “just doing their job” and more true believers, and even more soldiers molded from birth. Few leave the fold, and fewer still make their way to the Resistance. 

“Tell me about him,” Bodhi says, placing the glass on the table. His hands are no longer shaking now.

*

The medbay is quiet this late into the evening, just the muted beeping of the monitoring machines and the low whirring of the bacta tank. 

Bodhi finds Dameron folded into one of the uncomfortable visitor’s chairs - he thinks they make them uncomfortable on purpose, to discourage anxious friends and family members from setting up camp in the medbay. Then again, it never stopped him. 

Dameron shakes himself out from a restless sleep and blinks up at him, before scrambling to stand up, legs tangled in a blanket somebody put over him. “General,” he says, tossing up a hurried salute. Bodhi waves him off but doesn’t protest, he’s known the kid all his life, if “call me Bodhi” hadn’t stuck before now, it’s probably not going to.

“How is he?” he asks instead, even though Leia has already given him the latest. Dameron runs his hand through his hair and sinks back into the chair, gathering up the blanket and busying himself with folding it up. His small orange droid whirs next to him, humming companionably.

“Better now that we got the bacta shipment. The medics are professing ‘cautious optimism.’”

“That sounds like a lot of waiting and not a lot of answers,” Bodhi mutters, pulling up another chair. His spine protests a little, but he’s been in worse places. 

Dameron smiles a little, head lolling back. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept for days. “That’s pretty much word for word what General Organa said.”

“She’s a smart woman. And we’ve all been here before,” he says with sympathy, and holds Dameron’s gaze when the man gives him a searching look, then nods, confirming what Bodhi was already pretty sure of. 

Dameron looks like he wants to ask something but doesn’t quite know how, or isn’t quite sure he wants the answer. That’s Kes’ influence, most definitely, Shara would have went through guns blazing. Bodhi smiles at him. “Wedge is fine, you’ll probably get the fleet debrief once you make your way in.”

“Good,” he nods emphatically, relieved. “Syal?”

“Still on Lothal, should be coming home with the last transport,” he says, the note of pride creeping into his voice as it always does when talking about his daughter. “Thank you for asking,” he adds pointedly and Dameron laughs, a startled, sharp sound.

“Sorry, it’s been... It’s been a motherfucker of a week,” he says earnestly, reaching out to pat the droid’s hand when it admonishes him on language. “Started it off with being captured by the First Order, and that was somehow the highlight,” he adds, and his grin seems to be only half-forced. He glances sideways towards the bacta tank, something softening in his face, and Bodhi leans back in his chair, settling in.

“Want to tell me about him?” he asks and Poe ducks his head.

“How much time do you have?”

“Until Leia needs me for something or until you lose your voice, so I assume plenty.”

*

He’s not there when the kid wakes up. The Resistance is moving off D’Qar as soon as possible and Leia ropes him into checking the infrastructure of the new base, probably more to freak out some of the young technicians on site than due to his expertise, but that’s still good for morale, and so he goes.

The base’s structures are well hidden in the mountains, the unfortunate downside of it being the cold. It’s not quite Hoth, nothing will ever be quite like Hoth, but he was young back then and now his bones creak and his knees ache. 

They’ve started talking about retiring a couple of years ago, Wedge giving in first (not that anyone was counting, but Bodhi was _absolutely_ counting). The Starfighter Command was in the shape Wedge felt he could reasonably leave, young Darklighter taking over the Rogues, most of their friends already retired or planning to. There used to be a time when neither of them thought they’d see peacetime, but they lived to reach it.

Of course, then the worrying intel about the First Order’s forces started to come in, Leia’s warnings growing stronger and yet falling on deaf ears more often than not. Neither of them mentioned the plans again.

They’ve sat down to map out the best course of action instead. Bodhi was better suited for the Resistance, he knew how to make do with sparse resources and in the early days that was of the utmost importance. Wedge almost quit then and there, but they both knew his position with the fleet was too useful, that Leia would need someone in the admiralty who’d be unequivocally on her side. 

She comes to visit the new base on his fourth day there, puffy navy vest and dark winter boots the only allowances she makes for the weather. Bodhi shoots her a dark look and adjusts his scarf.

“This is shaping up nicely,” she says, sounding like she’s holding back a laugh. “Reminds me of…”

“If you say Hoth, I’m quitting the Resistance.”

“We don’t pay you anyway, General,” she tells him dryly and pats his arm. “And don’t lie to me, you have fond memories of Hoth.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” he grumbles and lets himself be persuaded into giving her a tour of all the facilities. 

When they make their way back to D’Qar Jessika Pava is waiting for them on the tarmac, grinning widely, a smudge of grease on her cheek. She salutes smartly and tells them, a little out of breath. “Finn woke up, ma’am. Poe said you might want to know. They’re still in the medbay,” she adds when Bodhi starts moving.

Finn has been moved to one of the beds, Dameron once again folded into a chair next to him, the droid chattering cheerfully, rolling forward in greeting when he notices Bodhi. Dameron’s salute is practically textbook, even as he’s grinning, and Finn scrambles to sit up, grimacing as he does, looking unsure if he should be saluting as well.

“At ease, all of you,” Bodhi mutters at them. The droid bumps against his foot companionably as he pulls up a chair. “I’m Bodhi. I’ve heard a lot about you, Finn.”

He watches the emotions flicker on the kid’s face - surprise, worry, pleasure, anxiety, lightning fast. He laughs a little nervously, a shake in his hand as he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, General,” he says and Bodhi looks at Dameron pointedly.

“Some of it might even be true,” he offers with a smile. “But try and get your intel from sources other than the fighter pilots too. I married into them, they tend to exaggerate.”

“Weren’t you a pilot too?” Finn asks, a shade of hesitance in his voice, while one of Leia’s aides pokes her head into the room and waves Poe over. He clasps Finn’s shoulder as he gets up and nods at Bodhi quickly. 

“Cargo mostly, shuttles, and freighters, yes,” he says. “For the Empire. In the early days of the Alliance, too, but I found other ways to help, found a place for myself. So will you, I imagine.” 

There’s a slight shift to Finn’s posture even as he’s still sitting in the bed, propped up against pillows. A new tension to his shoulders, but necessarily in a bad way. Bodhi remembers that, the eagerness mixed with anxiety, a heady feeling. 

It’s been a long time now since he thought about it, but he remembers the conversations with Galen, the only other person who seemed to understand the unease, the guilt, the shame, the _yearning_. And the fear. The fear that once you started questioning that there would be no way back, and you didn’t know what shadows you’d find.

“Poe was telling me about you, about the Death Star plans,” Finn says, looking down at his hands. Bodhi waits patiently for him to continue, doesn’t move for a long moment. “I didn’t… I couldn’t kill for them. I ran because I was afraid, and I got Poe out because he could get me out. And I went back to the Starkiller base…”

He’s talking fast now, the words spilling like he was holding them back for a while now. Bodhi starts shaking his head after a sentence. “To get your friend. I’ve heard,” he says and leans in, folds his hands on his knees. “I ran because I could not look myself in the eyes in the mirror anymore, you don’t get more personal than that. I had the luck of having someone setting me out on the right path, but I’m pretty sure you’re already way ahead on this one.”

Finn doesn’t look entirely convinced, but something eases in his expression, and he nods with conviction. 

Bodhi looks at him for a moment. “Ever played sabacc?” he asks and grins at Finn’s questioning look. “I’ll teach you, it’s a required skill if you’re gonna hang around the pilots.”

*

Syal makes her way to the base two days before Wedge is scheduled to, her hair cut shorter than Bodhi has ever seen and a new scar on her chin. 

“The other guy looks much worse, dad,” she assures him and then grins. “Actually, the other guy is very dead,” she adds with satisfaction and moves in to accept the hug he offers. “Alright, catch me up, we need to make the most of it.”

“Can’t wait to get away from here again?” he half-jokes, but Syal’s always been a livewire, always on the move and always in a hurry. “What is it?” he asks when she avoids his gaze for a moment.

“Aunt Jyn made contact, they’re going to need field medics. I leave tomorrow.”

It’s pretty much what he expected, but his throat tightens with worry and disappointment anyway. They were more than a little relieved when she decided to pursue medicine instead of joining the Republic armed forces, but the First Order and then the Resistance changed a lot of plans. 

“I blame your father, to be honest,” he tells her and she laughs.

“Funny, that’s exactly what he says about you. So, news? Kell picked us up on the shuttle and he says a girl kicked Ben’s ass.”

It’s not exactly the way he’d put it, but it’s good to know the Resistance grapevine is working.

*

He spends most of the day working on one of the shuttles, tinkering with the hyperdrive, because there’s not much to do until the fleet gets there and the base relocation gets underway. 

Finn makes his way over at some point - he’s still not cleared for any sort of active duty, but he’s been spending a lot of time around the base, picking up new skills with alacrity, clearly trying to make himself as useful as possible, like he feels he owes something to them. Bodhi has given up on trying to convince him otherwise, this seems like something Finn needs to do.

Dameron keeps trying though, so there’s that.

Speaking of Poe, he shows up approximately ten minutes after Finn does, and then the rest of the pilots are slowly drawn in, and Bodhi gives up on trying to get any work done. Wexley brings out some cake from the canteen which didn’t make it into the rations transport but needs to be eaten before they leave, and the whole thing turns into sharing stories, most of them clear bullshit because that’s how pilots sharing stories always ends up.

Apart from the one about the ewok, that one is one hundred percent true, Bodhi was there, and yet no one ever believes it.

It’s a good thing for certain people’s dignity.

The conversation shifts into a discussion on the base relocation, then the fleet’s arrival.

“Does this mean we’re Republic now, or is that the Resistance Fleet now?” Pava asks, sitting up and kicking Dameron in the process. “Still probably won’t influence wages, eh?”

“You’re getting paid?” Bodhi asks her, aiming for scandalised and probably not quite arriving there. A few of the pilots make a double check before they laugh, but Wexley’s loud cackle fills the entire room. 

“If we’re back with Starfighter Command, that might mean a change in the entire system of squadron designations, though,” Kare Kun says, almost wistfully. “I mean, I’d love to be back with the Rapiers, you know? And I’m pretty sure some people are aiming for a different distinction,” she says dryly, and Bodhi pretends he doesn’t notice at least five pilots glancing at him anxiously. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with the colors system, it works,” somebody pipes up and the discussion sets off once again, with Bodhi turning his attention to watching Dameron’s attempts to draw Finn more into the conversation, Pava picking up on it and doing her best to help. 

He’s still thinking on it and doesn’t quite notice when conversation stutters to a sudden end, but once he does, he doesn’t even have to look up, there aren’t that many people whose mere presence silences an entire room worth of X-wing jockeys. 

“Look what the mynock dragged in,” he mutters and reaches up, letting Wedge grasp his arm and pull him up. “Excuse us for a moment,” he adds towards the room at large and heads out of the shuttle, trusting Wedge will follow.

It’s not that he hasn’t kissed his husband in a room filled with pilots before, but there’s a difference between Janson’s heckling and those kids’ inevitable awkwardness. 

The nook between the shuttle and the hangar’s wall isn’t as private as he might want, but he’ll take it at the moment, Wedge’s hands warm on his, the touch and the taste heady and comfortable and familiar. “I might have missed you,” he offers and feels Wedge smile against his lips.

“Good news then, I might be here to stay,” he offers. “Even if the fleet ends up back with the Republic. Well, the fleet save for the Rogues and Wraiths it seems, they have decided to officially join the Resistance, I have been told in no uncertain terms.”

“Rogue Squadron might go against the official orders? Now I’m shocked, truly.”

“Frankly, I blame you,” Wedge tells him, pulling away, though his fingers are still laced with Bodhi’s. “Now, Leia tells me you’ve apparently adopted somebody when I was gone, care to introduce me?”

That’s not exactly how he’d put it, but it’s usually not worth it to argue with Leia. He rolls his eyes instead.

“You might be getting Poe Dameron as your son in law out of the deal,” he warns and Wedge laughs and shakes his head.

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised.” 

***

**Author's Note:**

> The story spun out of a couple of scenes in Somewhere Slowly and is mostly based on my utter love for Bodhi Rook and Wedge Antilles, two pilots trying their best, and on post-Rgue One discover of where the Rogue Squadron name comes from in the new canon.
> 
> I wanted to explore Wedge's background in the new canon, and merge it with my beloved elements of the Legends. I wanted to write the friendship between Wedge and Leia and see how Leia and Bodhi would interract. I wanted to see Bodhi in the Resistance, see him interact with Finn. As always, I wanted to see more of my beloved pilots, of Rogues and Wraiths who might not make their way into canon anymore. So here it is, my love letter to the Rogues.
> 
> It's self-indulgent and probably a bit too fluffy, and I don't think I care, because they need to be happy.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at realitycheckbounced :)


End file.
